every tuesday, from 8:30 to 11:30, i have a seminar on chivalry in the middle ages. the guy across from me is eating a full out, actual plate of eggs and ham. as IF sitting around and discussing chaucer and boccaccio for 3 hours on limited sleep wasn’t already the worst, the entire class smells like cold scrambled eggs and ketchup, euuuggghhhghgh. WHERE DID THEY COME FROM!? DID HE BRING THEM FROM HOME?? DID HE WALK ACROSS CAMPUS CARRYING A PLATE AND CUTLERY? SWEET JESUS, all i can hear is chewing. holy balls i don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore, someone just compared don quixote to chris farley in beverly hills ninja…it’s only been an hour…i’m going to put someone in the ground by the end of this class.
Every time I go to the mall at Century City, I make it a point to park in those pink “Expectant Mother” spaces.
Fuck that ridiculous policy — fuck any stupid rule enacted by pant-suit wearing corporate trolls, enforced by mouth-breathing mall cops, and obeyed by mini-van driving stepford wives.
If I’m lucky, on my short walk to the escalator I’ll catch a sneer from some cunty nag with a double-wide stroller. Nothing makes me happier than beaming back a curled-up smile that says, “No, I’m not the least bit expectant, and fuck you for asking.”
But today — oh, my — today was delicious. As I hopped out of my car, an angry soccer mom waddled over. She wagged a chubby little finger at me and yelled out, “That spot is for pregnant women only!”
Without missing a beat, I shot back, “My abortion isn’t until this weekend, so fuck off.”
“Yet thou, eternal, lonely wanderer,
Who, thoughtful, lookest on this earthly scene,
Must surely understand
What all our sighs and sufferings mean;
What means this death,
This colour from our cheeks that fades,
This passing from the earth, and losing sight
Of every dear, familiar scene.
Well must thou comprehend
The reason of these things; must see
The good the morning and the evening bring;
Thou knowest, thou, what love it is
That brings sweet smiles unto the face of spring;
The meaning of the Summer’s glow,
And of the Winter’s frost and snow,
And of the silent, endless flight of time.
A thousand things to thee their secrets yield,
That from this simple shepherd are concealed.”—Giacomo Leopardi